


keeping possession

by anotherplaceintime (marvelleous)



Series: snapshots [3]
Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelleous/pseuds/anotherplaceintime
Summary: “I’ll be here sitting on my round arse like a beached whale while those women sink their claws into you.”Jamie has to travel for work; Claire is less than pleased about it all.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Series: snapshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785904
Comments: 48
Kudos: 186





	1. Chapter 1

Claire is decidedly more than a little upset when he informs her about the last minute summer shoot that will require him to fly all the way to Florida and spend a weekend posing with a group of bikini models. 

Jamie stands a safe distance away when he breaks the news to her, by the closed door of their bedroom while she reads, sitting propped up against a mountain of pillows, and the sound of her novel snapping shut seems to reverberate through the air. It has always been so easy for him to know her thoughts, her glass face betraying all that is on her mind, but recently, it’s become increasingly difficult to predict her reactions to the world around them. He braces himself, ready for her to hurl the book in his direction, but then sees the pout that begins to form, her lower lip jutting out and trembling, and he rushes to her side, enfolding her in his arms as she begins to sniffle against his shoulder. 

They had made a silent agreement at the beginning of all this that he would  _ not _ comment on her mood swings, so he rubs her back and allows her to cry it out, whispering words of assurance in her ear. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, and he can feel the tears dampening his shirt, her body wracked with gentle sobs. In hindsight, he thinks that he probably should have expected this sort of reaction; they’ve both been having an increasing amount of separation anxiety throughout this pregnancy. 

“I dinna wish tae leave you, but I must,” he tells her, resignation heavy in his tone. He truly hates it, the thought of her alone at home while he’s half-way across the world; their daughter isn’t due to make an appearance for another two and a half months, and he thinks that there is no way he can leave her side during the last few weeks, just in case anything were to happen. 

There’s a puff of hot air against his skin as she sighs before slowly pulling back. His hands move to hold hers, so small and delicate, dwarfed by his own and she tilts her head so their foreheads are touching, the tip of her nose brushing against his. 

“I know.”

She smiles weakly and he kisses her, gently, before they pull apart. He watches with some amusement as she shifts rather awkwardly to lie back against the pillows, patting his side of the bed with one hand once she's comfortably situated. She watches him, eyes following him around the room as he moves over to the other side of the bed, pulling his shirt up and over his head. He tosses it into the laundry basket before slumping down on top of the sheets beside her, propping himself up on one arm, the other curling around her middle. 

“I’ll be here sitting on my round arse like a beached whale while those women sink their claws into you.”

He cannot help but laugh at her words and the expression on her face, frows burrowed and lips turned down at the corners, clear evidence of her displeasure at the thought of half-naked models fawning over him. Claire trusts him, knows the extent of his love and devotion for her, so this reaction is very likely due to hormones. 

“Ye ken I like yer round arse just fine.”

She scoffs, smacking the back of his hand with hers before entwining their fingers.

“Oh I  _ ken _ . Maybe I should mark you though, show the world that you’re mine.”

Jamie is not ashamed to admit that Claire’s flare of possession over him sends a bolt of arousal straight to his traitorous cock.

“Would ye let me do the same to you, Sassenach?,” he quips, drawing a rather undignified snort from her. She moves, runs her fingers over the back of his hand, tracing each joint and then settles his palm against the curve of her belly. 

“I think this is rather enough proof,” she tells him, smiling as his fingers begin tracing irregular patterns through the fabric of her shirt, which he is certain belonged to him at one point in time. He fiddles with the fraying hem, inching the material upwards and revealing her bare skin, soft and smooth and just barely shifting as their daughter makes her presence known. 

“Aye,” he mumbles, thoroughly distracted by the way her belly seems to ripple, small distortions of a perfect curve, appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. 

“She always does that when she hears your voice.” 

He inhales sharply, looking up at her face and thinks he might see tears welling in her eyes, but it's hard to tell when he's already crying, awash with a wave of emotions so intense he can't explain it. The tears fall freely, running down his cheeks as he shifts closer, pressing a kiss to her belly and sobbing when he feels a gentle nudge against his cheek. 

“Wee un,” he tries, grinning through his tears as their daughter shifts again. “It’s yer Da. I cannae wait to meet ye.”

She entertains them with her movements for a few more minutes before she stills, likely having fallen asleep once more. He sits up then, pulling Claire into his arms, breathing her in; the shampoo she wouldn’t let him use because it was the only brand that could keep her curls from spiralling out of control, her favourite moisturiser which she was more than happy sharing with him and the underlying scent of  _ her _ , the one that reminded him of home and happiness. 

“I love you,” she tells him, pressing a kiss against his bare shoulder. “Though I still don’t like the thought of those women touching what’s mine.” She punctuates her statement by pinching his arse, and he laughs, pulling back so that they’re face to face again. He brushes his thumb over the curve of her cheek, runs a finger along the line of her jaw and kisses her, briefly. 

“I could get ‘Property of Claire Fraser’ tattooed on my arse if that would make ye happy, mo nighean donn.”

He doesn’t realise what he’s said until he sees the poorly masked surprise on her face, the rise of her brows and the small ‘o’ her mouth forms. An irrational sense of panic descends upon him; he had known from day one that he wanted to marry her, wanted to call her his own and as much as he knows Claire loves him, he’s also well aware that it had taken her much longer to realise that they belonged together. Before he has a chance to lose himself to his thoughts, she appears to recover from the initial shock, smiling coyly as she trails a finger down his chest. 

“Claire  _ Fraser _ hmm? When did we make  _ that _ decision?” 

It’s his turn to gape, tripping and stumbling over words as she watches with poorly concealed amusement. 

“Is that something ye’d be interested in?”

She laughs then, throws her head back and blesses him with the wonderful sound, music to his ears. 

“That’s a piss poor proposal if I’ve ever seen one,” she tells him, leaning in and brushing her lips against his. “When you come up with something to rival your confession, my answer will be yes.”

He blushes as he thinks back to that night; how he had snuck into her apartment while she was away at a shoot, decorated the entire place with fairy lights, rose petals and scented candles, cooked her dinner and even rehearsed a lengthy speech to express his love for her. She had come home that night, taken one look at his efforts and kissed him firmly, dragging him to her bedroom and having her way with him. 

“Aye, it’s a good thing I’ve been planning how tae do so for the past six years. I’ve just been waiting tae find the perfect moment,” he tells her, and this time, he’s prepared for the waterworks that follow, reaching for a tissue from the box on the bedside table and drying her tears with it. 

He neglects to provide her with any further details on the subject; the best things in their life to date have been the result of surprises, and he’s quite content with continuing that tradition. Knowing for certain that she belongs to him, as he belongs to her, is more than enough to tide him over for now. 


	2. Chapter 2

The first day away is the hardest.

Claire had woken up with him, despite the early hour, insisting on giving him a proper goodbye. She had sucked him off, and then sucked a bruise into the skin of his neck, marking him for the world to see. He knew that the make-up artists would kill him for it, but as she slid back into bed with a satisfied smile, he found that he could not bring himself to care. She had been half asleep, blinking slowly and smiling softly when she kissed him, murmuring that  _ they _ would miss him. He had bid the baby farewell too, crouching by the side of the bed and running a hand over Claire's belly, grinning widely as he felt their daughter nudge him in return.

These are the memories he holds onto as he gathers his things and heads for the airport, bound for an almost nine hour flight, where he will be an ocean away from his family. 

Too far to do anything if something were to happen.

He knows that Claire is healthy, that their daughter is safe, protected. Things had been more than fine at their last doctor's appointment; they had seen her, moving around, stretching her limbs and heard her heartbeat, a steady thrum at one hundred and forty beats per minute. 

But he's also read up on the risks, on all the things that could go wrong. Claire is carrying their child, nurturing her, taking care of her in ways that he cannot and it's his responsibility as a father to be there for them, to support them through it all. He's prepared for the worst because he needs to be strong if there are complications, but there's nothing he can do when they're so far apart except worry.

And pray that all will be well.

He turns off flight mode after he lands in Orlando, the moment the pilot's voice comes over the announcement system saying that it's safe to do so, and double checks the time before calling her. It's close to ten in the evening back in Scotland but he knows that Claire is still awake, likely curled up in bed reading or puttering around the kitchen in search of a post-dinner snack. He had stocked the fridge and pantry with all of her favourites two days earlier, in anticipation of his four days away, despite her protests that she was perfectly capable of feeding herself. 

Before he has a chance to navigate to his favourite contacts, his phone buzzes with a series of incoming messages, most of them containing details regarding the itinerary for this trip. There's two messages from Claire, one with a photo attachment that has his heart rate increasing with anticipation. 

The first is simple and brings a smile to his face;

_ Have a safe flight. I love you. Xx. _

The second is a photo, and makes tears well up in his eyes;

He had insisted on documenting the pregnancy, so they would have memories to share with their daughter once she was old enough to understand such things. Claire had been less enthusiastic about the idea, but stood patiently against their bedroom door each day and allowed him to photograph her from all angles. She always wore the sky blue shorts and lacy white top, rucked up beneath her breasts to feature her growing bump, and the image he sees now is the same. She’s smiling at the camera, dark curls loose and falling past her shoulders, one hand holding her shirt in place, the other cradling the swell of their daughter. He wonders if she had finally figured out how to set up the equipment to photograph herself, or called in some help from someone at work, and figures the only way he’ll find out is if he speaks with her. 

After taking one last look at the photo, he calls her, bringing the phone to his ear and ignoring the other passengers moving around him, all clearly in a hurry to leave the plane as soon as possible. She answers almost immediately, and it makes him think that she must have been waiting for him to call. 

“Hey. How was the flight?”

Just the sound of her voice soothes his nerves, brings a sense of calm to him that nothing else in this world is able to. 

“Verra boring. Just landed and I’m still on the plane. How are my favourite lassies this fine evening?”

He can hear her walking around the apartment as he speaks, and tries to imagine it, her graceful movements as she straightens things up or goes through their bookshelf for the thousandth time, running a finger along the spines, trying to find something to read. 

“We miss you... terribly,” she says, voice wavering, and it makes his heart ache. 

“I miss ye too, mo ghraidh. And the bairn. I cannae wait fer this to be over so I can come home tae you.”

He hears her sniff once and then a second time, and wishes he were there to dry her tears. They were both fiercely independent people, and survived apart before, but things have changed drastically since the pregnancy and each minute away from her feels more like an hour. 

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. I’ll be home before ye ken it, I promise.”

"I know," she responds and then there's a pause, almost long enough to be anxiety inducing, before she speaks up again.

"Do we have any more of those veggie crisps?"

He laughs then, feeling a surge of happiness.

"Aye, on the second shelf in the pantry."

God, he loves this woman, fiercely, with all of his heart. 

* * *

They make do with constant messages, phone calls at odd hours and one blessed video call when he can't fall asleep in the evening and she's woken up at the crack of dawn to pee (for the fifth time that night, as she grumpily informs him). She regales him with tales of her boring work days, assisting with behind the scenes work at their agency's local office and he is careful not to mention anything about the handsy models, some of whom had indeed tried to offer up their bodies to him. He also makes the decision not to tell her that he's managed to get an earlier flight home, with the hope that he'll be able to surprise her once more.

She messages him just before he's about to board the flight, another photo of her and their daughter, who appears to have shifted positions, causing Claire's belly to look quite lopsided. He texts her back, a series of emojis, ending with  _ I love you _ , hands almost trembling in anticipation of seeing her again so soon.

The flight is spent sleeping for the most part, a lengthy playlist lulling him into unconsciousness. By the time he awakens, they're about to land, the rocky descent sending a wave of nausea through him. This time, he's one of those passengers in a rush, eager to leave and make his way home. 

He doesn't check his phone until he's collected his baggage, having been too focused on getting out as soon as possible, and his heart sinks to his stomach when he does.

_ Three missed calls from Sassenach. _

He checks the timestamps and realises she had called him four hours ago, three times in quick succession, only minutes in between each call, and a sense of dread washes over him. 

If God forbid something had happened to her, he would never forgive himself for not being there and answering her calls when she needed him most. 

He's in a frenzy after that, grabbing his things and making a mad dash to the taxi stands and finding himself a driver that's willing to cruise just above the legal speed limit for a hefty tip. The city flies past in a blur, bright lights turning to streaks through the tinted glass, and the fear and worry building with each passing second. He tries not to imagine it but he does, her lying on the ground, bleeding out and screaming out in pain, calling for him and receiving only silence in response. 

His heart thunders within the confines of his chest as he calls her, listening to the dial tone over and over, always eight times and then her voice;

_ This is Claire. I can't come to the phone right now. You know the drill, leave a message after the beep! _

He listens to the recording the entire way through each time, and wishes he had pushed her on it when she had insisted that they did not need a landline at the apartment, because he's stuck here with no other options and quickly descending into an emotional wreck. The taxi driver keeps giving him pointed looks through the rearview mirror but doesn't say anything, just keeps up the speed and soon enough, they're pulling into the familiar neighbourhood where his and Claire’s apartment is situated. His hands tremor, palms clammy with sweat as he pays the driver, and then retrieves his belongings, slamming the car door shut behind him as he races up the path leading home. 

The doorman gives him a stiff nod as he rushes past; it takes less than three minutes to get from the lobby to the front door of their apartment. There’s a sliver of light that can be seen through the door, and he can hear the sound of the television playing in the background. It takes four tries to get the key into the lock and two to actually turn the damn thing and let himself inside. He ditches his bags by the front door and rushes down the hall, following the light and noise into the sitting area and-

Oh.

Claire is passed out on the sofa, snoring lightly and drooling into a pillow from their bed. She has one arm thrown over her head, the other resting around her middle and he almost falls over, all his worries and fears melting away, leaving him boneless and weary and relieved. It feels as though he’s walking on air as he closes the distance between them, before dropping to his knees at her side. He touches his fingertips to his forehead, moves them over his chest and then bows his head, so very grateful that his fears were for nothing. 

_ “Deo Gratias,” _ he whispers, inhaling sharply when Claire shifts in her sleep, her eyes slowly fluttering open, lips tugging into a smile when she sees him beside her. 

“You’re home,” she says, voice thick with sleep. He grins, quickly leaning over and pressing a kiss to her lips, running his thumb over her cheek, tracing the familiar curve. 

"What were you thanking the lord for?"

She places her hand over his, just barely brushing over the hair on the back of his fingers, looking up at him through hooded eyes. 

"For the sight of you, Sassenach, and the bairn."

He kisses her once more and then stands, sliding his arms beneath her body and carrying her bridal style to their bedroom. She doesn’t protest, simply curling up against his chest, already slipping back into a deep slumber. He takes care when setting her down, not bothering to pull the covers over her body, knowing she will kick them off in her sleep anyway, the summer air being far too warm for her taste. She immediately rolls onto her side, hand reaching for his pillow and burying her face against it. 

It makes his heart ache, in a different way than before, as though there are too many emotions to contain within him, and he stands there for a minute or two, just watching her sleep, before preparing for bed himself. He retrieves his belongings, emptying his dirty clothes into the washing machine before hopping into the shower. The water is scalding, just how he likes it, and he’s careful not to wet his hair, quickly scrubbing himself down and then towelling himself off. He doesn’t bother with clothes as he makes his way back into the bedroom, slipping quietly into bed and feeling the cool sheets against his bare skin.

Claire senses his presence even in her sleep and shifts closer to him; her belly ends up wedged against his middle, and he feels their daughter moving around between them, turning and tumbling so vigorously it soothes his nerves. Their wee lassie is healthy and active and perfectly fine; seeing evidence of it brings on an overwhelming sense of elation. Claire appears to disagree, letting out a quiet groan, and moving a hand over her belly to try and calm the bairn. He shifts, careful not to jostle her, until he’s facing the bump, softly kissing a spot where he sees what looks to be a foot poking out. 

"It's time tae sleep now, a leannan. Dinna wake yer mam wi’ all yer wiggling around. She needs tae rest and so do you, if yer tae grow big and strong."

Logically, he knows that there’s no way she can understand him, but feels her movements slow down at his words, and then stop altogether. He’s read that babies can dream when they’re still in the womb, and he hopes that she feels safe and warm and loved, as he does when Claire is beside him. Smiling, he gives her belly one more kiss and then moves back up on the bed, lying face to face with her.

“I cannae begin tae tell ye how much love I bear ye, mo nighean donn,” he whispers. 

The last thing he sees before he falls asleep is her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking time to read :) As always, I very much appreciate comments and feedback. You can find me at @displaceintime on twitter.


End file.
